Unspoken
by Mitsima
Summary: After a successful -though somewhat botched- mission Down Below, Tenpou considers the possibility that change and fate indeed have a place in heaven. Konzen is not helpful, but a certain nosy lieutenant makes an appearance. Tenpou/Konzen and a surprise.


**_Unspoken _**by Mitsima

_Note from the author: Happy New Year! I've come out of my cave to indulge in something I haven't indulged in for a while: a Tenpou fic. It feels good to be writing him again, though a bit strange as well! _

_This story is dedicated to Narrizan (belated birthday gift, now New Year's gift) along with everybody who is crossing their fingers for good year. _

_That said, please read and enjoy! And if you feel like it, please comment. ^_^ I love feedback._

* * *

Just this once, even though there was nothing to celebrate, Tenpou indulged in a cigar. Just for the scent, because it smelled very much like earth, spices and autumn leaves. After weeks of doing the standard rounds (perhaps even months –the way time moved Down Below always puzzled him) the Western Army had finally returned and Tenpou was blessedly alone in his study, back to his books on war, history, and military strategy; back to his collections of ashtrays, statuettes, and broken clocks.

Then there was that tiny bottle of sweet liquor one of his men had bought Down Below and delivered, knowing his field marshal's penchant for earthly pleasures, between the soiled pages of a surveillance report. Unlike the cigar, the liquor had its purpose, and that was for a certain alleviation of pain. He pushed away a pile of unread reports from the surface of his desk and sat down.

They had been ambushed by _youkai _between the foothills and the desert, and without a general to shackle Tenpou behind his foot soldiers, he had once again charged to the front line without a second thought, pulling his gun and shouting orders. These were followed first by soldiers accustomed to hearing their commands coming from the front (Tenpou's men from the very beginning), and afterward by the soldiers who had only ever served with their head officer gracefully holding ground in the back, far from harm's way.

Naturally, he had been wounded. A mere miscalculation. But he had not expected the _youkai_ to have a fire witch among their league, but there she was. And before he could shoot her Tenpou was surrounded by flames and gasping for breath. It didn't hurt, not at first, but the stench of his burning uniform was enough to make him gag. Zenon was the one to save him…. or at least he made it easier for Tenpou to save himself by pointing in the direction of the nearest stream: _Sir, you might want to put that out. If it ends up messing up your face, you'll have to deal with a troup of heartbroken soldiers, me being one of them of course. _

Then he winked and Tenpou was reminded what an insufferable sort of man Zenon could be, and what a terrible sense of timing he possessed, but at least he was useful. Sometimes, he even proved himself to be pleasant company. The men respected him. He was often by Tenpou's side in battle. Reliable, too. If Tenpou closed his eyes in the middle of a battlefield, he was sure that Zenon would make sure he survived it.

Right after Tenpou's last general was killed, he thought it only natural for Zenon to be successor. But to skip all matter of convention in order to promote a mere lieutenant was preposterous, even by Tenpou's standards. Zenon would just have to wait, and Tenpou would have to wait for him. In the morning, Tenpou decided, he would speak to Goujun about a less drastic promotion for the man. He had performed remarkably well all throughout this last mission, and good deeds are meant to be rewarded.

_And so is the sacrifice of the flesh_, Tenpou added mentally as he brought the bottle of liquor straight to his lips, replaced the cigar, and took a sip. It burned his throat –a different burning than what he had felt before on the battlefield. This one was pleasant, sweet and had a hint of fruit.

Tenpou slumped in his seat and adjusted the black military overcoat that sat loosely on his bare shoulders. A thin layer of bandages hugged his torso. They itched badly and Tenpou resisted the temptation to run his fingernails across the rough stretches of cotton. Too tired to stand up and leaf through his pile of half-read books, he resorted to mindless distraction.

Of his clock collection, only one of them seemed to work properly. He kept that gold pocket watch on his desk so that he knew –although the knowledge never did him any good – that somewhere Down Below it was precisely six o'clock. There was no time to be measured in Heaven, at least not in the linear way that humans measured it. But surely, _something_ must have been passing because in Tenpou's consciousness there was a Yesterday, here now is Today, and soon enough there will be a Tomorrow. And all the gods felt it, because everyone here was especially talented at the art of waiting and "passing time," as if they had an endless supply of it. Which probably they did.

Which is quite possibly what he was doing right now. He was missing the banquet celebrating their return, had made the excuse of returning to his field reports. Tenpou knew that Goujun sensed his lie from the very beginning, but had said nothing about it.

"Then sleep well, Tenpou Gensui," the dragon king had said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Tenpou wondered if he would be able to sleep tonight. He was not craving good food or loose women –the usual hungers of a soldier. He wanted to be sleeping under the open sky again, surrounded by the campfires of his men and the sound of dry leaves as the wind blew through a nearby forest.

Tenpou puffed once more on his cigar, listening through the silence. Then he heard it. _Ah, there here is. Constant as clockwork._ Footsteps echoing through the corridor outside his study –quick and clumsy. Tenpou knew _he_ would eventually come to his door, because banquets were occasions they both avoided whenever it was manageable, and so he had left it unlocked. Konzen never knocked, and he didn't this time either.

"You seem alive enough," Konzen grumbled, eyeing Tenpou's bandages.

Tenpou smiled. "You seem disappointed."

"Zenon told me you almost burned to death."

"He's exaggerating this time. It makes him feel like a hero."

"You think he is?" Konzen asked.

"Nobody here is a hero," Tenpou replied pointedly, tapping the ashes off his cigar. "At least not in my army. We try our hardest not to deserve the title."

"I see…"

"You were worried about me."

"Don't flatter yourself. Who would worry about an idiot like you?" Konzen closed the door behind him and leaned against it, steadying himself and growling into the wood. "Your room is just the closest… I'm here because…fuck it, I'm drunk. Those damn ministers don't know when to stop talking, but drink enough and it's easier to ignore them."

"But you listened to Zenon when he said I was on the brink of death. If you weren't worrying, I'd say with some degree of confidence that you were at least _concerned_. You know, it wouldn't hurt you to flatter an injured friend."

"Fine," Konzen relented, pushing himself away from the door. "I'm mildly satisfied that you are well enough to inhale that roll of burning poison."

Tenpou laughed. "I suppose this is the best I can get from you. But it seems like your secondary reason for being here is to find a place to sleep. You know where to go. My bed hasn't moved." Tenpou gestured over to the door leading into his sleeping quarters.

Konzen muttered a gruff 'thank you' and shuffled into Tenpou's bedroom like it was his own. True enough, Konzen was not unfamiliar with Tenpou's bed and the field marshal enjoyed a quiet sort of pride when it came to his relationship with the nephew of Kanzeon Bosatsu. No doubt about it, Konzen was the best and worst Heaven had to offer.

Having given up on the cigar –though not on the liquor– Tenpou stared aimlessly at the pocket watch on his desk until it had counted the passing of about fifteen minutes. In those fifteen minutes, Tenpou heard not a sound coming from the dark recesses of his bedroom. Konzen hadn't even bothered to turn on the lights. Tenpou envied him for being able to sleep so quickly, but it was just as well. Even if he couldn't find sleep, it should be enough just to lay in the dark with Konzen next to him.

The field marshal stood up and retreated into his room. The window was open. It was a full moon tonight and beneath the silvery light he could make out Konzen's thin body splayed over the sheets of his bed.

"You're the selfish one," Tenpou whispered as he approached the bedside, though he expected no reply. "It isn't nice to leave me without space."

He stretched out his hand and ran a rough thumb along Konzen's cheekbone, down to where his lips were stained with wine. Konzen didn't stir, but his lips parted ever so slightly with Tenpou's touch.

During childhood, they had innocently shared each other's beds. They would stare at the ceiling and talk enthusiastically about whatever came to mind. It was an endless eternity in the bureaucracy that turned Konzen into the man he was now, but in his youth he had been more curious, more inquisitive. But he was also sullen and easily embarrassed, and Tenpou was happy that the Konzen he had always known was still there, alive despite being buried beneath a mountain of paperwork and complaints.

Tenpou always had the answers to Konzen's questions, and because Konzen was not stupid and the questions only got harder as they got older, Tenpou the Bookworm was pressed to make sure his body of knowledge developed accordingly. Perhaps that was why he put so much effort into his studies. He simply would not accept the idea of Konzen going to anyone else to satisfy his inquisitiveness.

Soon enough they weren't children anymore and chastely lying beside each other in the dark began to awaken in Tenpou something both uncomfortable and tense, as if the air around him would disappear if he breathed out of turn or moved even one finger in the wrong direction. Tenpou distinctly remembered his stomach hurting until he was biting back tears– which in retrospect had not been his stomach but somewhere lower, a place whose reactions were foreign even to him.

Tenpou was an intellectual young man. He knew that books and scrolls were the key to eliminating his ignorance, regardless of the subject. Tenpou suspected that this was something he and Konzen should have learned ages ago, but the nobles often neglected this aspect of their children's education. Therefore he conducted proper research and began to understand the reason for his "aches" and "mildly pleasant" discomforts, and because they were of the same age he figured that Konzen would soon come to him with the same questions Tenpou had been asking himself. He was ready with the answers, ready to scientifically explain the nature of desire and its physical effects.

So he waited patiently for Konzen's questions. Centuries passed but Konzen never asked, which led Tenpou to figure that Konzen must have done his own research out of shyness. But then another change puzzled Tenpou: whenever they lay down together, whether it was after a banquet in the palace or a casual visit by Tenpou, Konzen would immediately stop talking, turn towards the wall and fall asleep. The excuse of extreme fatigue was acceptable, but it came as a shock when Konzen began refusing to share his bed altogether.

"What's wrong with it?" They were in Konzen's bedroom, and Tenpou was already halfway under the covers. "Why do I have to sleep in the guest room?"

"Because you don't live here. That clearly identifies you as a guest."

"But I want to stay with _you_."

"You kick in your sleep now," said Konzen, arms crossed. "Your legs are too long. If you want to sleep with someone, I know many servant girls who would be willing. They'll gladly let you kick them."

"I don't kick!" Tenpou protested.

"How would you know that?"

Tenpou began to pout, not quite knowing why he was disappointed. "…I just do."

Even at that age Konzen was not easily swayed. The most Tenpou could ever do was delay the inevitable, so when Konzen claimed that it was only right that they sleep in separate rooms like dignified adults, Tenpou gathered his courage and insisted for one last night. The way Tenpou almost begged made it seem like they would never meet each other again; and perhaps it was halfway like that. Soon Tenpou would be enrolled in the military academy. Konzen would be studying under the ministers. Their paths were destined to split, and Tenpou did not know how far it would take them from each other.

Such was the way of nobility no matter what world they lived in, and it was just the same here. Both boys would have to rise up and fulfill all noble expectations. There was no such thing as 'destiny' within heaven's inner courts, only decisions. And when these decisions were made, there were no questions asked.

Tenpou got his last night, though he had no idea what to do with it once it was granted.

Once they were both situated beneath the covers and the lights were out, Konzen immediately turned away from him and fell asleep. Just like that. The pain Tenpou felt at that moment was surprisingly _not_ the kind of discomfort he had experienced before. This time, it was somewhere in the middle of his chest. It was not the kind of pain he could easily describe, either.

In the dark, listening to the sound of Konzen's gentle breathing, Tenpou pictured a butterfly clutching the deteriorating walls of its cocoon. The more it struggled the closer it was to achieving the freedom it didn't want. All he had was that picture. He fell asleep imagining all the possible fates of such a butterfly. None of them were good.

When Tenpou awoke, it was still night. Something had tickled his lips, soft like a piece of frayed silk, and when he opened his eyes, there was Konzen, his golden hair pouring over the pillows. The breath died in Tenpou's throat. Konzen was very much awake and lying so close to him that their noses were almost touching. Close enough to…Konzen ran a tongue over his dry lips. There was a curious wash of scrutiny in his expression, and a hint of irritation.

"You really are an idiot," Konzen hissed, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His shoulders were hunched forward, as if he were trying to make himself smaller to the point of disappearing. "You just had to wake up _now_, of all times."

"What are you talking about?" Tenpou asked, genuinely confused. "I'm not allowed to wake up in the middle of the night?"

"Nothing…just…nothing. Forget I said anything."

"I don't want to."

"Damn you…"

"Coming from the nephew of the Goddess of Mercy, that's a pretty heavy curse."

"Shut up…this isn't…you know, I really fucking hate you."

Tenpou quickly understood the reason for his friend's mortification.

Konzen was..._oh god_s. The single lamp in the corner of the room made everything visible. Tenpou could feel his face heating up as he took a closer look at Konzen's strained posture, the silk robe parted at the waist, and the way his bare knees were tucked up and trying to hide his obvious arousal.

Tenpou didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he found his breath again, braced himself for a swift rejection and reached between Konzen's legs to touch what was already wet with want.

"Hate me all you like," Tenpou said as he nudged his head forward, grazing his lips against Konzen's eyebrows. "But I'm not going to tease you anymore. Open your eyes. I'm not laughing at you. Here, see..."

He curled his fingers around it, gave a tentative little squeeze, and Konzen's eyes flashed open. Konzen did not speak; his breath was ragged and shallow. And he was distrustfully scrutinizing Tenpou again, possibly waiting for the joke to end, but he did not push him away, and when Tenpou began to his draw his hand back, Konzen grabbed his wrist to keep it where it was.

Then, "If you're not going to laugh," Konzen said. "Then at least do _something_."

Konzen gingerly brought his knees down, giving Tenpou easier access to his body, and he shifted his legs so their toes lightly brushed against each other. This was Konzen's answer. Tenpou still couldn't believe it, yet even through the dim light he could sense that something definite was being communicated between them. And when he felt Konzen's hand reach forward and touch his chest, right where the pain had been, Tenpou understood that nothing needed to be said anymore because Konzen already knew what should or should not happen. From the very beginning, Konzen understood what a hundred books could not teach Tenpou. Then there was no more space for thought or understanding, because Konzen's hand was slipping through the folds of Tenpou's robe, over the skin of his chest and lower to where that cold hand needed to be.

They had relieved each other that night, had fallen asleep with their legs tangled in the sheets and their minds drunk on each other's scent, but in the morning Konzen still stood by his decision.

"If you don't take the guest room from now on, the servants will start talking," Konzen said by way of explanation. "Your place is something else. Nobody seems to give a shit what you do or who you do. You get it now?"

Tenpou got it. He wanted to thank the gods for his good luck, but _they_ were the gods and there was no such thing as luck, so he could only laugh like an idiot in wonder of it all.

Standing now at his own bedside, next to a sleeping Konzen, Tenpou wondered how much time had passed since that first intimacy. Since then, they had gained the courage to explore each other's bodies more often –and more thoroughly. For Tenpou, Konzen's body was the surest and closest thing in all of heaven. Also the most pleasantly unchanging.

Still, the more Tenpou held him, the more he felt that Konzen was somehow slipping through his fingers. It had nothing to do with himself. It had nothing to do with Konzen. Something imperceptible was changing in heaven, the way termites would eat away the foundations of a human house, an unaccountable force, like a slow undertow, was carrying them away from each other. Tenpou knew he should be terrified. But he was not. Now that he was older, he saw a certain hope in it all, and felt a certain curiosity that was aroused by the mere possibility that heaven _could_ change. If their relationship had to become a sacrifice to that change, then so be it. He knew that Konzen would want this as well, even though he was not used to wanting such things.

Perhaps, unlike Down Below, where destiny rained upon humans from the gods, fate inside the boundaries of heaven moved in a horizontal fashion between bodies. Bringing two bodies together and then pushing them apart. Ripple effect, it spreads. Domino effect, one connects to another. Everyone tangled in a chain of motives, and the one person who hates most to be involved –Tenpou ran his fingers through Konzen's smooth hair –would be inevitably pulled in and forced to play his part.

A knock on his study door interrupted his thoughts. Tenpou frowned. He arranged the sheets over Konzen, returned to his study, and closed the bedroom door behind him. The knock came again, though it was unhurried.

"Who is it?" Tenpou called out.

There was a slight pause, and then, "Zenon, sir. The doctor in the infirmary asked me to check up on you. I've brought a medical kit…since you suck at changing your own bandages." Another pause. "Sir."

When Tenpou opened the door, Zenon raised his hand in a salute, even though the formality of the gesture was undermined by the wicked grin on his face. "Hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"You shouldn't tease him like that," Tenpou admonished as Zenon waltzed into his study and set the medical kit on the coffee table. "He'll believe everything you say."

"Only if it has to do with you, sir. Which is why I did it."

Tenpou shook his head in disapproval, but Zenon was focused on the medical kit. He was sitting on a stool next to the cluttered table, unlit cigarette in his mouth, and methodically extracting from the wooden box a fresh roll of bandages, tape, and a salve newly developed by the research division.

Zenon's hair never failed to capture Tenpou's interest. From where he stood above his lieutenant, Tenpou took the time to examine it. Wild and bright, is what it was. A stark contrast to a pair of eyes darker than coal, and which lacked both color and luster.

"Ready when you are, sir. It won't take very long," said Zenon, pointing to a second stool he had pulled up. "I assume someone's waiting for you, and I doubt he's the type of person with a heart full of patience."

"He drank too much tonight," Tenpou admitted. He shrugged off his outer coat and sat down with his bandaged back to Zenon. "He's not waiting for anything."

"I suppose that would be my fault as well," Zenon laughed. "I kept refilling his wine glass."

"Here I was thinking that you should get promoted…"

"My bad then," Zenon said as he placed a hand on Tenpou's bare shoulder and began to unravel the old bandages. "Pretend like I never said anything."

"I'll do that."

The bandages came off easily, but when Zenon reached that last layer, Tenpou couldn't help but wince and suck air through his teeth as the cotton and blood were pulled away from his skin.

"See?" Zenon said, and Tenpou could already imagine him smiling around his cigarette. "This is what happens when you try to do things by yourself all the time. You know, sir, it would save everyone the worry if you just depended on us a little more."

"I depend on you," Tenpou replied petulantly.

"But not enough."

Tenpou's breathing had eased now that Zenon was applying the salve and wrapping fresh bandages over the blisters. He was being exceedingly gentle, but efficient. His hands were rough, but warm. Zenon also smelled like earth, like the cigar Tenpou had been smoking earlier. Tenpou liked that, even though perhaps he shouldn't, and suddenly he was craving nicotine and here –conveniently – was Zenon, who was always known for his good taste in tobacco brands.

"I think I'd like a smoke just about now," Tenpou said all of a sudden when Zenon was through. He spun around on his stool until they were sitting knee to knee. "I'd also like to speak with you for a while."

"Is that an order, sir?"

"I can't sleep."

Zenon looked at him quizzically, but seemed to let the question in his eyes dissolve. Then he shrugged, pulled out a metal lighter from his uniform pocket, and lit the cigarette in his mouth. Zenon took a few drags before plucking it from his lips. He held it in front of Tenpou and raised an eyebrow. "This is the only one I have on me right now." Nodding his thanks, Tenpou parted his lips and accepted the gift.

Inhaling slowly, Tenpou let the warmth of the smoke fill his lungs. "It's good."

"I bought a packet of this during my latest rounds. I'm going back tomorrow morning… alone though… I just thought I should let you know."

"On whose orders?" Tenpou's eyes narrowed.

"If I can't tell you, then you can be sure it's someone more powerful than Tenpou Gensui, Field Marshal of the Western Army," Zenon replied seriously. "But technically I shouldn't even be telling you, so this conversation is off the record. It never happened."

"Then why are you telling me anything at all?"

"To make a point," Zenon reached forward and pressed his hand flat against the bandages on Tenpou's chest. "In my report, I wrote that you were injured because you took a hit for me. I reported that I was carrying the artifacts that we were sent down to retrieve, and that your injury was clearly in line with our mission. On paper, you weren't being careless, but downright, fucking heroic. But the truth is that you lost track of yourself. The only ones who know are you, me, Goujun, and that blondie-"

Tenpou sighed and cigarette smoke filled the space between them. "You haven't reached your point, Zenon." He felt the heat in Zenon's hand leaking through the bandages. Hearing the truth agitated the pain from his battle injuries, but Zenon's touch seemed to keep it at bay.

"You need a general," Zenon said, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Your energy's been stretched beyond its limits. You need a general who is careless, idiotically loyal, and foolish enough to call unwanted attention to himself so you can learn what you need to learn about this rat's nest without anybody suspecting."

"That would be you, then."

"_They _would never let it happen," Zenon interrupted. His hand dropped to his side. "If it were within your power to offer and within my power to accept, then there you go. Hell, I'd gladly do it. I'd be your careless, idiotically loyal, and foolish general. But as it stands, if I get any closer to you I'll probably end up dead."

Tenpou recalled the strange tugs at his intuition which have been plaguing him lately, the ones that told him that heaven was changing, so slowly that nobody appeared to notice. But here was Zenon, his own soldier, already involved in something that was outside of Tenpou Gensui's control. Now the notion that it was all so close unnerved him.

"If that's true, then you shouldn't be so demanding," Tenpou said, suddenly exhausted. "If everything is beyond your power and all you're doing is saying 'yes, sir' to someone else who isn't me, then you have no say in any of it."

"I'll say what I need to say, sir. _Especially _since it's you."

"Then say it and get out."

"I will, but before that there's something I've gotta do."

"What?" Tenpou closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. His chest felt cold without anything there against it, but then the pressure of Zenon's hand returned –a gesture of reconciliation.

_Dangerous,_ Tenpou thought as those fingers curved around his neck and into his hair. _Stop him before something happens._ Of course this was yet another element he could not control, and he prepared himself to accept it. He heard the scrape of a stool against the marble floor, felt the cigarette being stolen from his mouth, and after that, Zenon's lips, warm and rough like his hands and his voice.

Then it was all gone.

When he opened his eyes, Zenon was heading towards Tenpou's desk with a pen and a scrap of coffee-stained parchment. He was writing something, and when he finished, he placed it in the ashtray. Then he took out his lighter again, and looked at Tenpou. "This is the most I can do for you…because I don't think I can be loyal to you for much longer."

Zenon lit up the corner of the parchment, made his way quickly to the door, and saluted.

"Read it before it burns up, sir. I won't come here again, and I'll have to ask that you don't call me over. I took a risk tonight, and it would be dangerous for the both of us if I did it again."

Tenpou rose from his seat. "Understood," he said, and as an afterthought, because the kiss got him thinking about this strange meeting of theirs, he said, "Be careful tomorrow."

"I will."

"You'll be demoted for forcing your superior officer to protect you. Lack of foresight and utter stupidity on your part."

"Thank you, sir. I was hoping for that."

"You will try to fight it," Tenpou continued.

"With every fiber of my being, sir."

"But I will not restore you to your former position and you will ask for a transfer."

Zenon grinned. "And you will deny me my request, is that right?"

"The Western Army is a ship of fools. I intend for it to remain that way," Tenpou replied casually. "Thanks for the cigarette. It was good, but I don't think it suits my taste very well."

"That was pretty mean, but I can't disagree. Some things in this world are meant to be tried only once," Zenon looked around Tenpou's study, his gaze finally landing on the closed bedroom door. "Then there are things you consider to be for keeps. But you know, nowadays I start to doubt that."

"You and me both."

When Zenon was gone, Tenpou attended to his last message. The parchment, slightly damp, burned slowly. It was short, and a name was written there, in surprisingly clean script:

_Kenren Taishou, Eastern Army_

_I doubt he'll be there for very long_

_Good luck with him_

Tenpou was still sitting at his desk long after the message had been destroyed, staring again at the pocket watch. Many hours had passed since he started making a mental tally of everything that was _not_ completely beyond his control, and yet he found himself embarrassingly poor in that respect.

He was good to his men, but he knew he could not –nor did he want to –hold complete power over them. His studies. But the history of war moved parallel to the lines of eternity. There was no way to fully grasp it. Konzen, his oblivious childhood friend. Tenpou liked to think that he could control Konzen, and perhaps it was true whenever they shared a bed, but Tenpou of all people knew how Konzen was not what he appeared to be on the outside. He could evade Tenpou if he wished, and might even understand a realm of thought that Tenpou had no right to enter.

Tenpou did not even want to think about Zenon. So he turned his thoughts to the name that had long since turned to ash.

"Kenren…Kenren…" Tenpou said the name a few times to himself, trying it out. "Careless… idiotically loyal…foolish…"

But how does a man become idiotically loyal to the point of carelessness? Such things must take time, in addition to another element that Tenpou could not comprehend. He should have asked this question to Zenon before he left, since he acted like he knew the perfect answer and seemed, at the same time, to purposely withhold it.

So perhaps, Tenpou decided, he will ask his new general.


End file.
